


a million reasons

by valinorbound



Category: Iron Fist (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Colleen and Misty getting drunk to deal with their problems, Danny and Ward's trip to Asia, Danny didn't learn this at monk school, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Post-Canon, Post-Season 2, bullet wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21986590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valinorbound/pseuds/valinorbound
Summary: “Hey… if either of us are allowed to panic, it should be me.”“You’re not,” Danny notices. “Panicking.”“Mm.” Ward glances over Danny’s shoulder into nothing. “Believe it or not… been in worse.”Ward takes a bullet for Danny. Their time in Hokkaido is not going as planned.
Relationships: Danny Rand & Claire Temple, Misty Knight & Colleen Wing, Ward Meachum & Danny Rand
Comments: 9
Kudos: 39
Collections: DDE’s 2020 New Year’s Day Exchange





	a million reasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/gifts).



> A Defenders Exchange fic for @sholio, featuring Ward and Danny as requested, with this wonderful prompt: Someone taking a bullet for someone else, and some Trust on the side. Hope you enjoy!

SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO. DECEMBER. LATE EVENING.

“What…” Danny says, as he presses his hands over Ward’s side, “were you _thinking_.”

“Wasn’t.”

“ _Evidently_.”

Blood spills from between his fingers. It’s hot and dark, flowing in a sluggish stream, staining Ward’s shirt with a deep crimson; Danny swallows, forcing himself to press harder and pretending he can’t feel where a bullet tore through the skin.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

They’ve stumbled back to the room they rented for the past few nights. It’s hard to find anywhere secluded in Sapporo, let alone safe, but the room is tucked away in a quiet corner of the city - it’s kept them away from unwanted attention so far.

Not that they’ll be staying much longer. 

Now’s the time to move on, Danny thinks. The trail’s running cold and there’s nothing more for them here. Nobody in Hokkaido seems to appreciate questions, especially regarding Orson Randall; the further they get with their search, the more people seem to act with a shoot-first-talk-later mentality.

That’s how Ward ended up with the ghost of a bullet in his side. A negotiation had gone downhill, featuring an employee with a gun and a Danny who didn’t realise the extent to which he was provoking said man with a gun. The details weren’t important. They hadn’t got anywhere and eventually, the man decided the evening was quiet enough to allow them to be swiftly dealt with; he turned off the safety when neither Danny nor Ward was paying attention.

The pistol fired and the world went still - it stopped on its axis, just for a second, as the bullet spun towards Danny’s chest.

It didn’t land.

Because Ward, in a moment that made Danny relive the past few years to figure out how he’d got so sacrificial, threw himself into the path of spinning lead and knocked Danny out of the way.

The bullet had torn through him like paper.

A jolt shook his whole body.

And now, twenty minutes later, Danny’s cursing himself for using all the energy he had left to take out the guy with the semi-automatic, as well as his countless allies that appeared from all angles; he can feel nothing but dying embers of the glow in his fists.

He’s got better over recent months, his strength lasting longer every time he lights it - or, them - up; despite his training, there’s still a limit to how much he can do. Healing is different and it takes a kind of focus that’s been in short supply over these last few days.

His strength - more importantly, his healing power - is nothing but ashes.

_He summons it, and when that fails, cries for it; his head, fists, centre - they all scream, a tuneless melody that shudders down his spine._

Danny sits back, his hands trembling.

“I can’t heal you.”

“Why not?”

“It’s gone. Everything, today, it’s -”

“You can’t do the fist thing?”

Danny shakes his head, feeling a hint of panic well up inside him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do. I-”

“‘S alright. Old-fashioned way, then.”

Danny can’t answer. Instead, he moves his hands from the gaping wound and replaces them with Ward’s. He’s shaking, he realises - not just his fists, but all over. Whether it’s from the effort of trying to heal him or the sight of his brother drenched in blood, he doesn’t know.

Ward catches on, pressing his own hands into his side. “Hey… if either of us are allowed to panic, it should be me.”

“You’re not,” he notices. “Panicking.”

“Mm.” He glances over Danny’s shoulder into nothing. “Believe it or not… been in worse.”

As that comment plunges Danny into a minor crisis because yes, goddamnit, they have, Ward gives as humourless laugh. “And, hey,” he says. “We had a good time.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“‘y know… if this is to be my last hour, and all that.”

“Wh-? No. Shut up. I won’t-”

“Danny. _Danny._ I’m joking- _ah-_ shit…”

“Just, uh- lie still.”

“Fuckin’ _lie still_? That all you got? Fuck-”

“I… don’t know what to do.”

“They didn’t t-”

“No, they didn’t _teach me this_ at _monk school_.”

Ward waves his hand in Danny’s general direction. His eyes are unfocused and he’s losing what grip he still had on coherent thought more and more by the second.

“Tha’s - exactly. What I was gonna- _ow_ ,” he slurs as Danny leans over him, fishing for the phone in Ward’s jacket.

“You’re predictable.” Danny takes a breath, calming the roaring in his mind.

He’s made a decision and he doesn’t like it. Sometimes, he thinks, you gotta do something you’d rather not do - this is one of them.

His hands fumble to open the cheap burner and he enters a number he knows off by heart. It’s one he hasn’t thought about for a long, long while.

Ward notices through his semi-conscious haze.

“You can’t call anyone. ‘S secret. Secret mission.”

“I trust her.”

“Colleen? No, you said…”

“It’s not Colleen.”

“Then wh-”

“Shut up.”

Ward doesn’t have the energy to do anything but glare at him.

Danny tries to push away that nagging voice in his head, the one reminding him of the promise he made to himself, that whilst they were away, it was him and Ward, nobody else. He’d dragged too many people under what was his burden to carry and it was only now that he realised the weight of it.

He wishes he’d paid more attention to the time difference between here and New York. If she still lives in New York, that is.

Last he’d heard from her was when she told him to check on Luke. He’d tried to get in touch afterwards, update her on what had happened, but she either ignored him or didn’t notice - he was going for the former. He could have found her with Rand at his disposal but thought it best to leave her alone.

Now, though - she’s the only option.

There’s no signal. No _goddamn_ signal. He should have seen this coming - the neighbourhood isn’t known for its reliable telecommunications network.

He can’t leave Ward.

Neither can he do this alone.

“Do you trust me?” Danny asks. Under different circumstances, Ward would’ve made a jab at him for being so cryptic, but the lighthearted tone has drained away alongside the colour in his face.

“Of course. Wha-”

Danny gives his shoulder what he hopes is a reassuring touch, and stands to head towards the door before Ward can finish his sentence.

“Keep pressure on it.” Ward tries to reply, but the breath catches in his throat. He nods. Danny smiles and hopes it’s not too strained; he tears his eyes away from the blood on the ground and runs from the room, clutching the burner like it’s made of gold.

* * *

The city at night is something else. Every colour he can imagine, almost too many; the lights are in no particular pattern, not like the rows upon rows of windows back home. Here, they’re thrown together in a blinking tapestry that’s almost indistinguishable from the stars on the horizon. When his breath condenses in the cold air it lights up red and blue.

But Danny’s head is spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and no matter how hard he tries to steady it, the image of blood won’t leave his eyes.

He finds himself outside an office building, standing near the side of the road with the phone in his hand, almost crying at the sight of a glorious three bars in the right-hand corner. He knows he should be as fast as possible, and yet, he hesitates - just for a second - before calling. It’s not like they left on bad terms; he just can’t figure out how good those terms were.

The line rings.

Once, twice, th-

Danny’s heart jumps; he’s holding his breath with a sinking feeling that she might have hung up, and -

“ _Hello_?”

He remembers, when he hears her voice, just how much he’s missed her.

“Claire,” he says. “It’s Danny. I need your help...”

* * *

HARLEM, NEW YORK CITY. HALF AN HOUR LATER.

As Claire Temple put the phone down and went back to her breakfast, the odd circumstances in which she’d been interrupted from her toast had really sunk in.

That was the second time she’d had to talk someone through saving a life down the phone.

Danny had taken the information fast, hurrying her through an explanation and repeating it back, evidently unable to take the phone back to wherever Ward Meachum was bleeding out. It hadn’t seemed life-threatening but she’d heard the way Danny’s voice trembled.

She watches the world rush by from her window and wonders if she should have asked more about their whereabouts - Danny had hung up fast with no pleasantries, not even a promise to call her back despite her request. Claire assumed he would if things went too downhill but his reluctance was obvious from halfway across the world.

She’s going to be late for work, she realises, but can’t seem to focus on anything else; not until she tells someone.

The only information she has is they’re somewhere in Japan, which, despite needing to be narrowed down to be of any use, doesn’t soften the nagging feeling that somebody else needs to know.

Claire abandons the cold remains of her toast and walks back over to the phone. Maybe she shouldn’t talk about Danny if he so obviously doesn’t want to be found, but it would feel wrong if she didn’t.

Claire’s still got the number on her phone. After all this time, even after an impromptu trip to China, it’s not listed as her real name - it’s still _Chikara Dojo_.

The phone rings no more than once.

“... _Claire_?”

“Colleen,” she replies. “Hey…”

* * *

CHINATOWN, NEW YORK CITY. THAT NIGHT.

“... and, according to Claire,” Colleen says, putting her second beer down on the bar, “He’s somewhere in _Japan_.”

Misty finishes off her own beer. It’s her first of the night, but she’ll forgive Colleen for speeding ahead on the getting-absolutely-shitfaced front. She knew what she’d signed up for when she suggested getting a drink to talk things through. It’s not like she minds, either; Misty’s somewhat relieved at the chance to talk to someone about a problem with no relation to Luke, Hernan Alvarez, or Mariah Dillard, may her soul rest in the fiery pits of hell.

“Japan?” She repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Any reason for that?”

“No goddamn idea.”

The bar is quieter than usual. It’s most likely the new ice on the sidewalks and frost painting the windows - tonight is the coldest night of the year, a bitter northwesterly wind gushing down just in time for Christmas.

“‘s like he’s in a movie, sometimes.” Colleen shows no signs of slowing down, be it in regards to the rant or the alcohol. “‘ _I’m looking for answers, Colleen_ ’ - that’s not a plan, is it?” She swallows another mouthful of beer. “It’s nothing but a wild goose chase for something he- you know what, I don’t think he even knows what he’s looking for.”

“Living his life in metaphors, right?”

“ _Exactly_.”

The beer keeps arriving and the conversation moves on, from Colleen’s iron fist to Misty’s promotion and her new-and-improved bionic arm.

When they circle round to Rand Industries, they’re drunk enough to venture back into the subject of Danny.

“So many things in my life have moved on, but Danny…” Colleen’s saying, her words blurry at the edges - “despite, uh- everything about him- he always felt like a constant.” She rubs at her eyes as if brushing away something she doesn’t want to feel. “An’ I don’t know how to... how-”

She gestures with her hands and it could mean anything, but Misty knows exactly what she’s trying to say.

“... to process it?”

Colleen only nods.

“Hey… c’mere.” Misty wraps her arms, metal and all, around Colleen’s shoulders and pulls her into her chest. Colleen responds by gripping the back of her shirt, and Misty feels the tremors in her hands.

“He’ll be okay,” Colleen mutters.

“You’re goddamn right he will. And, you know what?” Misty says, pulling away so she can meet Colleen’s eyes, “So will you.”

Colleen nods, smiling through the haze that she blinks out of her eyes.

Misty wraps an arm around her shoulders. “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

* * *

They’re a block away from the dojo when it starts to snow. Not heavily at first, but it falls thicker and faster by the second, swirling in the December wind.

Colleen laughs when she notices, holding out a hand to catch it under a street lamp. Misty’s still got an arm around her as she grins up at the winter sky.

It doesn’t settle - the ground is too wet for that - and by morning it will be nothing but slush at the side of the road.

Just like what happens in life, Colleen thinks, she’ll deal with whatever comes next when it arrives.

They’ll enjoy what they’ve got right now.

* * *

SAPPORO, HOKKAIDO. A FEW HOURS AGO. MIDNIGHT.

Danny hasn’t felt this tired since he fought a real-life dragon; he collapses into the cheap mattress, so welcoming that he can almost ignore the broken springs.

“How’s Claire?” he hears Ward say from across the room. Danny almost laughs at how abnormally normal that question is.

“Didn’t have time to ask her,” he says. “Too busy saving your ass.”

Saving his ass, rather surprisingly, hadn't gone all that bad - Claire’s instructions were as flawless as always, and Danny intended to call her back to thank her when they'd both got some sleep.

Ward is silent for a minute. When he speaks, Danny expects it to be something light-hearted, but there’s no humour in his voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“Why you? I got myself shot-”

“And I didn’t protect you.”

Ward gives an exasperated sigh, which just for a moment reminds Danny of the older brother he used to be. When he speaks, though, he sounds nothing but tired.

“It was my own decision,” he says. “You’ve done more than enough to keep me safe.”

“I haven’t said thank you,” Danny realises.

“You don’t have to.”

The room is pitch black besides a slither of pale green light through the curtain, glowing in from the takeout shop across the road. It’s almost peaceful if Danny ignores the hum of the road outside and drunken shouts below the window; it’s late, and he knows by early morning they’ll be gone.

“I want you to know…” Ward says. “I trust you more than anyone.”

Danny turns to face wherever Ward may be. They each made their choice, and it’s not Danny’s fault Ward has eleven stitches in his side - sometimes, though, when he’s tired and wondering how much hope they truly have to succeed at what they’re trying to do, everything lands on his shoulders.

“Why’d you come with me?” Danny asks the dark.

It’s silent, but that doesn’t matter - he’ll ask again in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me over on Tumblr @shades-alvarez for defenders stuff - @valinorbound is my main :)


End file.
